"i am a supernova!" said the aviator
as he stepped out on the icy island.
the old man cackled,
turned his bony back and sat
bare upon the ice in the cold antarctic sun.
in the cold antarctic sun!
the old man said,
"if you could use your tears to raise the dead
i'd have never lost my wife,
but what's done is done."
and still the wilted, withered, dried, embittered,
frantic dancing masses sing their praise
to he who saves them from the cold antarctic sun.
from the cold antarctic sun!
my vessel wrestled a bank of clouds!
speeding the still warm and breathing
to the safety of my house
but they seemed as something
septic in the angles of my empty attic
scales have been upset
by lesser things than what i've done.
blackened, broken, bruised and battered
spirit left inside.
return to do my penance i
to the cold antarctic sun.
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